Nothing really ends
by IncFinger
Summary: It started as a regular case. Until something went horribly wrong. First story in English. I'm not a native speaker so don't be disappointed.
1. Prolog

**Disclaimer: Don't own anything. Not even a proper sense for English grammar and vocabulary. I'm practically learning the language by reading fanfiction. So don't sue, don't judge - just offer to beta for me ;o)**

Prolog

At first it seemed like any other case they had wrapped the last three years.

In fact it seemed easier – and maybe a little less important.

The case wasn't about drugs sold by ten-year-olds, weapons at school or discrimination on campus. It was simply about some skater kids that liked to paintbrush walls. Okay, so they signed bridges, public transports and whole warehouses. It cost a lot to repaint the facades, trains and buildings that were coloured with tags and not so tasteful pictures and flames. And because the kids worked on such a big scale, the mayor was under a lot of pressure. The Jump Street program was asked to identify the unknown artists and the city of Vancouver wanted to make an example by judging them.

And it went the foreseen way.

At least for a while: the cops infiltrated some schools in the area in which most of the incidents had occurred, and four weeks later Tom Hanson and Doug Penhall hang out with a group of teenagers that they suspected to be part of the random artistic adventures. The night they were asked to meet their "friends" at two o'clock in the morning in front of a well known supermarket, they had a total of five police cars following them. The minute the teenagers would start their work, the squad would move in. Caught in the act. _Finis_.

But it didn't happen that way.

The question that Officer Tom Hanson would ask himself more often than any other question in his whole life would be: what the fuck went wrong? Was there anyway he could have changed his fate?

Maybe. He could have waited longer for the backup. But Doug, his partner in crime and law, had already flashed his badge. It seemed like the right thing to do, and he really didn't think the kids were THAT dangerous. They sprayed on walls, for goddamn sake. They hadn't deliberately harmed anyone. They had spent four weeks on a case, that dealt with vandalism. Okay, the teenagers had professionalized the whole thing by bringing scaffolds to reach the visual more effective higher ground. But it was still vandalism.

Tom had not even wanted in on this case.

It seemed unfair to him to bust some kids that blew off some steam by painting dirty jokes on public property. How could something like that move so high on the list of priorities on the to-do-list of the mayor, when there were still drug victims dying on highschool toilet floors and weapons circulating on the streets that could decide the war in some third world country?

Ever since he had come back from prison Hanson had been thinking about quitting. Not just the Jump Street program, but the whole being-a-cop-thing.

He had been thinking too much about his motives for becoming a cop in the first place. Was he just doing something his father would have been proud of? Could he really believe in this job - that he was part of something good? After all he'd seen and had happened to him in the last four years he wasn't so sure anymore. He had even talked to Doug about his doubts. He was already thinking about different ways to make money.

Maybe he was not focused enough when he flashed his badge. Maybe he was too used to the reaction he had received the many times the two of them had done this before. The teenagers usually broke down – or they ran. Nobody had ever turned around and sprayed one of the officers in the face.

Maybe that was why, when exactly that happened, Officer Tom Hanson did not manage to close his eyes before it hit him.


	2. scaffolds, blood and pain

**Disclaimer: Still don't own anything. Thanks for the encouraging reviews. Rated T for some swearing, may change later. I'm still looking for a native speaker to eliminate the worst mistakes.**

**Sorry it's so short, but I thought better move on and post something than falling in that OneShot–Trap I'm so prone to. So… maybe the next one will be longer.**

1

Doug Penhall had done it. Yes, he had flashed his badge a little too soon.

So what? He had done it before and it never had done any harm.

The whole thing had started when fucking Victor Paresi wanted him to climb that scaffold. The guy that Hanson and him had identified as the leader of the gang had given him two spray cans and literally pushed him forward.

Doug had had no intention to climb the scaffold. For one thing, he knew his colleagues would soon move in, and he preferred to be on solid ground when that happened, not twenty feet in the air on a windy leverage that was held up by some deathly scared kids. Secondly, he just didn't like heights. Everybody knew he was claustrophobic thanks to his embarrassing experience in juvenile lockup. Fewer people knew that he was afraid of heights, too. He was a guy for the middle ground, had always been that way, no guy for the extremes – at least when it came to physical configurations.

So he flashed his badge.

He didn't want to fuss around and wait for the cavalry.

He just wanted to end this stupid case and file it away. Actually, it was one of the seldom times that he shared Hansons unwillingness to put some teens in cuffs. Four weeks of work! They had wrapped much more important cases in less time.

The second he flashed his badge the sirens went off in his back. So it had not been _that_ bad timing. Just seconds too early.

Seconds he would think about many, many times in the future.

Victor Paresi had looked at him, then at the police cars that were moving in, and then he had turned to run. Doug had expected the reaction and grabbed him. Three seconds later he put cuffs on the teen's wrists. The other kids were frozen at their spots. Cops were swarming out and cuffing them.

When Doug turned again to push the now silently crying Victor in the direction of the van that would transport the kids to the police station, he heard his partner gasp. He turned around and saw Hanson on his knees, hands on his face, badge on the floor. Steve, the guy Hanson had talked to seconds ago, was standing next to him, mouth open and eyes gazing terrified at the young man, his supposed friend that turned out to be a cop. In his hands he still held a spray can.

Doug pushed him away and fell down on his knees beside his partner. The can clattered to the floor.

"I didn't want to do it…" Steve said breathlessly. "It was an accident, I swear…"

Penhall ignored him. Hanson was still on his knees, rocking slightly, hands on his face. Choking sobs escaped him once in a while. Doug put a hand on his shoulder, trying to steady him.

He couldn't see anything. It was half past two in the morning, and Hanson had turned away from the headlights the police cars had flooded the scene in.

"Hanson! Tom! Come on, tell me! Everything okay?"

Stupid question. His partner was moaning in pain. Penhall felt panic rising in his chest. Hanson didn't even acknowledge his presence.

"How bad is it, Tommy? Let me see. Please?"

His eye caught something sticky on his partners face. Blood.

There was blood everywhere.

Doug tried to reach for his partners face. And then he recognized the substance. It wasn't blood.

It was paint.

Red paint was everywhere, matted the other cop's hair and was smeared across the parts of his face that were not covered by his hands. So the kid had got Hanson with the spray can. Obviously a red one. Fuck. You're not supposed to get these chemicals into your eyes, right? Doug reached for his friend's face, but Tom pulled away when he touched his fingers.

"He got you into the eyes?"

A slight nod and more rocking, more painful gushing noises. Doug knew, he should call for help, immediately, but he seemed frozen at his friends side, hands on his shoulders, steadying him and his mind absolutely blank. He couldn't breath, couldn't think.

He was trained for this kind of situations, but somehow he wasn't able to reproduce any of that knowledge at the moment. His work wasn't like that. Most of the time, nobody got hurt, and if so, it were the bad guys that had to ask for a medic. It wasn't supposed to happen the other way around.

Doug had secretly been glad that he hadn't been there when Harry was shot. He could not imagine how he would have reacted. He probably would have fired after the leaving car, totally ruining his cover – totally loosing it.

Now all his brain could articulate was a litany of random thoughts that were freezing his mind: _it could not be true … that didn't just happen … he did not sit here on the floor … that was not his partner crying out in pain … it was not true … he was in his bed … he was dreaming … yes that must be it … what a nightmare … but soon he would wake up and then they would get the sprayers without getting anyone harmed … but … what if… what if it's not … what if it IS true and you're just sitting here waiting to wake up … you have got to help him … remember … you got trained for cases like this … even in your dreams you could act more coherent than that …_

"Someone help me here! Officer down!" he cried out at least.

A guy in a uniform he didn't know showed up at his side.

"What happened?"

"I need help here. Call an ambulance, fast. He got shot in the eyes."

So maybe that came out wrong. What the fuck. The cop hurried away.

_Why do I happen to get the only guy without a radio?_

"Fuck." Hanson moaned.

Penhall grabbed his shoulders harder. He would have some marks there tomorrow, but that didn't matter right now.

"An ambulance is on its way, Tommy. Just hold on, okay? They're coming soon. Everything will be okay. They will wash out that stuff and then it'll be all better. Just sit tight, okay?"

"Fuck."

Dougs voice trembled. "Stop swearing on me, man. You're scaring me. That's so not you."

"Shut up." came the reply.

Doug managed a weak but heartfelt chuckle. Hanson was still with him. He heard him an reacted to his words. The swearing and moaning - it was just shock. And, yeah, of course it must hurt like a bitch to get that sticky substance right in the eyes.

"Okay, I'm going to shut up if you let me see your face. Maybe I can…"

"No. Fuck."

Other strange curse words followed, some of them Doug had not ever heard before. It really worried him. Hanson had to be in a lot of pain to lose control like this.

"It just hurts too much…"

"Okay, okay. I let the doctors do that. The ambulance will be here any minute. Just sit tight, okay? Sit tight."


End file.
